


cosmic love

by jenn_locke



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Projecting onto Henry "Monty" Montague, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Drinking to Cope, Florence + the Machine References, Inspired by Music, M/M, Percy loves Florence + the Machine and that's canon babes, Physical Abuse, Song: Cosmic Love (Florence + the Machine), Title from a Florence + the Machine Song, gratuitous use of flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenn_locke/pseuds/jenn_locke
Summary: Monty Montague can trust two things: music and secrets. He has to hide his bisexuality from his father or risk a beating, and he has to hide the beatings from his best friend Percy or risk those puppy-dog eyes filled with pity for the rest of his natural-born life. But music... He can trust music. It's at the bars, it's in the car, and it's at Percy's, and it'ssafe.





	cosmic love

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, posting twice in a night, _I still make no promises_.  
A Gent's Guide fic that's like every other fic where Percy finds out that Monty's dad is a piece of shit and tries to help and Monty doesn't want his pity, so Everyone Reacts Badly Until They Don't.  
also a lot of references to florence + the machine because percy is an indie gay and he's turned monty into one

There's something to be said about music. More specifically, people and their tastes in it.

Monty had spent plenty of time in clubs and bars, long enough to learn that music held a shockingly strong influence on peoples' moods and, much more importantly and relevant to _him_, how open they were to a good shag.

Tonight, he was at one such bar, lost in the mindless thrum of a bass line beat. It was typical for a night like this, nothing so popular as to get people singing, as drunks tended to do if it was a particular song (he'd heard far too many slurred renditions of "Bohemian Rhapsody," thank you very much), but nothing obscure enough to alienate. It was a careful balance, but tonight, Monty didn't particularly care. He'd had a hell of a day and, at the moment, all he cared about was drinking away the ache in his ribs and the hole in his heart.

* * *

"Late again, Henry," his father mused from his chair, chin resting on laced fingers like an action movie villain.

"Sorry," he mumbled, not even bothering to come up with an excuse. He'd stayed late at good ol' Richard Peele's, a rowdy party that had made it all-too-easy to forget the time quickly slipping away.

He rose from the chair, towering over Monty despite the fact that there wasn't a great difference in their heights. Wordless, he smacked him across the face, a ruby red handprint scorching across in moments.

"Where were you?" he asked, not a change in his stoic demeanor.

"Out," Monty replied tersely, earning another smack, this one hard enough to make his head spin.

"_Where were you?_" he repeatedly sternly.

"Dick's." His father hated the nickname. He deemed it inappropriate and a harsh reminder of Monty's "shortcomings."

Another stinging slap and Monty stumbled.

"Did you drink?"

"No," he lied.

This time, it was a punch, and Monty did more than stumble. He lost his footing completely, tripping over the gnarled foot of a coffee table, his side making bruising contact on the way down.

Monty gasped and clutched his ribs, ignoring the cut of blood on his cheek from his father's ring, and his father just... Stared.

"Pick yourself up, _boy_." The word was spat like an insult. "Get up from the ground, or I'll make you stay there."

With a strain in his breath, he rose, grimacing as he pulled his hand away from his throbbing side.

His father glowered.

"Go to bed," he instructed, plucking a tissue from his picket and wiping his son's blood from his knuckles. "I expect you at the breakfast table in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Monty mumbled, making the aching trek back to his room before shimmying out of the window.

* * *

The bar was dark enough that no attention was drawn to the blood on his cheek. The bartender didn't care that Monty was red-faced and short enough to be mistaken for underage- his dollar was good and nobody on this side of town really gave a shit.

A man slid onto the bar stool next to him and flashed a smile laced with less-than-noble intentions.

* * *

Monty collapsed into the driver's seat of his Porsche, turning the lights off as soon as they came on. His ribs cried for help and he dared not look at the damage. He'd been dealt worse before, staggered up to his room on legs probably broken and lived through his share of concussions. He was certain the only reason his father kept all of that furniture around was to beat Monty into them and see just how much he could get away with.

He wrestled his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the trembling of his fingers as he typed out a text.

_coming over_

It wasn't an uncommon text and the response was almost immediate despite the late hour.

_Need me to get you?_

Ah, Percy. Not only was he the only bloke to type in full sentences, he was also the only one to answer his texts any house of the day and offer to pick him up, even when it was late enough to call it morning.

_nah just keep the lights on_

_Will do._

He started the car and the radio turned on, a pop station that he could vividly hear Percy complaining about, insisting that he use the Bluetooth to put on one of his indie playlists rife with Hozier and MIKA. The memory made him smile and Monty pulled out of the drive.

* * *

"So." The man took a sip of his drink. "What kind of music do you like?" _Yikes_. He was clearly not well-practiced in the art of seduction using "getting to know you" small talk like that.

"Florence." The name was out of Monty's mouth before he could even think.

_No,_ his mind whispered traitorously, _that's Percy's favorite._

* * *

His head was pounding as it hung off the end of Percy's bed, the familiar beats of Florence and her machine playing quietly through Percy's studio apartment. Percy hummed along with it, bobbing his head as he poured a glass of water for Monty. He danced a little, a smile on his face, eyes closed as turned away from the counter.

"The party was a wild one, I take it?" he remarked, wiping some blood from Monty's cheek and setting the glass down on his bedside table.

"You could say that," Monty agreed, groaning in pain as he took Percy's hand and sat up.

"Too much to hope that this'll be the last time I hear about Dick Peele?" he asked, handing Monty the glass and picking up a damp cloth to press at his slapped-red cheek.

Monty laughed, short and sharp and interrupted by a grimace. "Yeah, maybe." Percy didn't know. He didn't _want_ Percy to know. He didn't want his pity, not when he got so much already. He didn't want to see _that_ look on Percy's face, the look that said "Poor Monty, whose father beats him. Poor Monty, who can't date boys without getting his finger broken. Poor Monty, poor Monty, _poor Monty_."

"Anywhere else?" Percy asked intently, watching Monty's gaze.

"Just banged up my back, nothing too bad," he said, but Percy's knowing look made him sigh and start to peel off his shirt.

Better for Percy to think he got into fights at parties.

Better for Percy to think he was a troublemaker.

Better for Percy to think he _fought back_.

* * *

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he didn't bother pulling it out. It didn't matter who was texting, he didn't want to talk.

It buzzed again and he scowled, yanking it out of his pocket and tossing it onto the bar.

_Monty, please._

_Text me back._

_Please, I just want to help._

_Monty, I'm sorry._

* * *

Percy was clearly shocked by the mottled purple bruises along Monty's back and side.

"I've got some cream in the bathroom," he remarked, rising from the seat on the bed.

"I can get it, I'm not an invalid," Monty insisted, jumping up despite the ache that shot up his side.

Percy opened his mouth to object. but merely sighed, shaking his head. "Neosporin, it's on the top shelf."

Monty nodded and fled to the bathroom, throwing open the cabinent and rummaging through its contents. There were a number of bottlers, all various meds for Percy's epilepsy, and no Neosporin to be seen.

"You're sure you're not out?" he shouted.

"I just bought some!"

Distantly, his cell phone rang, playing the Jaws theme he'd long since assigned to his father.

"Ignore it!" he told Percy and there was no response as it played out. He continued to search, cursing his still-shaking hands, and resulted only in knocking all of the bottles and tubes of medicines into the sink and onto the floor. "Dammit," he muttered, picking things up by the handful and shoving them onto shelves.

His phone rang again, but he ignored it, vainly trying to clean up the mess and find the cream at the same time.

His foot brushed a tube on the floor and he looked, finding the damned Neosporin right there under his nose. He bent over and cursed as he went.

His phone rang a third time and he stood up abruptly to go and answer, banging his head on the sink and shouting with the bloom of pain.

"Sir-" he heard Percy say in the other room, heart racing at all the things his father might say. He stumbled out of the bathroom just in time to watch Percy's face as his father's shouting came through from the phone, a mix of anger and shock.

Monty raced forward, snatching the phone from Percy's hand and replacing it with the cream.

"_-get your ass home right this instant, or you won't be able to walk. Do you understand me, Henry?"_

"Yes, sir," he answered, and immediately hung up. Percy stared at him in stunned silence and Monty couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd heard.

"Does he mean that?" Percy asked quietly. "Does he- Does he hit you?"

Monty closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah." His throat felt tight, like he couldn't breathe if he wanted to.

"The bruises, the cut- he hit you _tonight_?"

"It's not as bad as it has been."

"It's still bad!" Percy shouted, and Monty flinched. "_Monty_." His voice was soft and he cupped his cheek gently. "How long?"

"Years," he admitted quietly, eyes screwed shut. He didn't need to see it, he didn't need to see those eyes softened with pity.

He heard what he thought was a broken sob and Percy's hand pulled away. "I'm calling the cops."

Monty's eyes flew open and he reached out to stop him. "_No!_"

"Your father's abusing you! You need to tell someone!"

"It won't matter, he'll just make it worse!"

"He's hitting you, Monty, there is no 'worse'!"

"_He'll stop me from seeing you!_"

There's silence again and a phone in Percy's hand. Monty felt like he was ready to cry and he felt so _stupid_, standing there shaking with his bruises and truths on full display.

And the pity... The heartbreak in Percy's eyes that he hated to see.

"I'm leaving," he said, grabbing his shirt from the bed and yanking it on haphazardly.

"Monty..."

That was all he got say before Monty slammed the apartment door behind him.

* * *

This time, his phone rang.

"Cosmic Love" played and he couldn't hide the smile, however bittersweet.

"You gonna pick that up?" the man asked, and Monty stared at the screen. Percy, asleep on his couch in an old Florence t-shirt he got at a concert they went to at thirteen, "darling" written clearly as the contact.

"Yeah," Monty decided. "I am."

"Oh, Monty, thank god," Percy said as soon as he picked up the phone. "I didn't know where you'd gone, I thought you went home to-" _Your father_.

The words were unspoken, but they both heard them.

"I'm fine," he assured him, sliding from the bar stool and slapping a bill on the counter. "I'm just out getting a drink."

There's an audible sigh, because _that_ was the favorable option. "Please, just... Come back. I want to help you, Monty, I don't- I don't want to see you hurt like that."

"What can you do, Perce?" he asked, the very same question he'd asked himself time and time again. "My father's got money and a good reputation. It's more than enough to get him out of trouble for this."

"I can get you _out_," he offered. "You can come live with me. My aunt's been begging me to get a roommate."

Monty laughed, interrupting the music of the bar as he pushed through the door. "Your aunt hates me."

"_I don't care_." There's a certain desperation in Percy's voice and Monty doesn't want to think about all the reasons that could be. "Monty, _please_. Stay with me. Get away from your father. I can't see you hurting."

Maybe it was something he said.

Maybe it was the way his voice shook when he said "Stay with me."

Maybe it was the promise of someplace safe, of someplace far away from his father's reach.

Maybe it was the music he heard through the speaker, Florence Welch halfway-singing, halfway-shouting and the beats he could all-too-easily see himself dancing to with Percy in the mornings. 

But it's didn't really matter, he supposed, because in the end?

He said "okay."

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i'm a slut for angst with happy endings and lots of music and misunderstandings and arguments that end in emotional make-ups wHAT ABOUT IT


End file.
